Patience, Faith, and Forgiveness
by camlann
Summary: One-shot set in my Prologue 'verse. A family visit to Jim's church one Sunday morning goes awry...Rated for language.


A/N: A friend gave me the idea for this, and I just couldn't leave it alone. I have him to thank for all the religious dialogue—thanks, Allan. The bits of the service you see is based on a Methodist service, as Jim's title and garb allow for the possibility that he is, in fact, Methodist. If there are any mistakes, I apologize! Hope you guys like this!

Patience, Faith, and Forgiveness

"Why'd we hafta come anyway? This was Aubrey's stupid idea," Dean muttered, his voice too loud for John's liking. A swift elbow in the side silenced the belligerent seventeen-year-old, but John could tell from the teen's posture that this likely wasn't going to be the last of the snarky comments.

_Great. _

Aubrey had pleaded with John to take her to church, begging until John thought his ears would bleed. Stubbornness being one of the traits they all shared, it was pretty obvious that she wasn't going to give up on the idea. For some strange reason that John hadn't quite figured out, Aubrey _liked_ church.

And it was damn hard to say no to her. Which is how John found himself sitting in the back pew of Jim's church one early Sunday morning in September.

And if John had to suffer through it, then so did the boys, because misery loves company. So here they all were, the entire Winchester clan crammed into a small wooden pew. And it was as miserable as John had thought it would be.

_Nothing makes church more intolerable than it already is than having a noncompliant teenager along. Pissy seventeen-year-old, check._

Braden had accepted John's decree to come along with his usual decorum, and Sam had seemed more curious than anything, taking the pronouncement with good-natured ease, relatively speaking. But Dean…Dean had bitched from the start, and John knew then that things weren't destined to go off without a hitch. And what made matters even worse was that the service had only just started.

_I shoulda cut my losses and gotten outta here when I had the chance. Like, before the service started._

John had ordered Dean to sit next to him, as John knew well enough that his oldest wasn't to be trusted in a church out of his father's reach.

_Shit._

None of them were much for church songs, John and the boys opting to remain silent through the Hymn of Praise. But Aubrey had gone all-out, singing "Maker, in Whom We Live" at the top of her lungs, much to John's dismay and the congregation's amusement.

Not that she knew the words or anything.

"Dude, what's a _kyrie_?" John heard Sam whisper, and Dean glanced down at the already crumpled church bulletin in his hand before shrugging.

"How should I know?" he retorted, casting an annoyed look at his father before looking away.

"Ancient Greek prayer," John heard Braden murmur, his eyes distant in that strange way that John had come to recognize in the eight-year-old as the norm for his moments of extreme weirdness.

"What's it for?" Sam asked him, and Braden answered him without pause.

"To ask the Lord to have mercy, Sam."

"Why? He won't give it anyway," Dean muttered under his breath, and John frowned, a sudden sense of sadness hitting him suddenly at the realization that his son was as jaded as he was.

John wasn't so out of touch with himself as to not realize that he'd blamed God for Mary's death, but to realize that he'd unwittingly passed that on to his son was hard to hear. Mary wouldn't have wanted that for him, or for their children, but he had a feeling it was a little too late to rectify the situation now. And John was none too certain he'd gotten over his _own_ bitterness with God.

_Pretty hard to preach at Dean about God when I've got issues with The Man myself._

"Lord," he heard Jim begin, "open our hearts and minds by the power of your Holy Spirit, that, as the Scriptures are read and Your Word proclaimed, we may hear with joy what You say to us today. Amen."

"That's pretty, isn't it?" Aubrey whispered softly the Scripture reading began.

"Are we ever gonna sit down?" Dean asked before John could reply, and honestly, John could've kicked him just then.

"After the next hymn, Dean," Braden told his older brother, and John sighed as Aubrey leaned against him.

"This is real different from our church at home, Daddy," she whispered. "But I like it. And Pastor Jim sings real pretty."

The congregation began to sing, and John cringed when he saw the name of the hymn: "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing." For though there was nothing wrong with the song on the surface, John knew his oldest son well enough to know that Dean would construct something creatively smart-assed to say about it.

_Time for a preemptive strike_, John decided as he saw Dean open his mouth_._

"Not. A. Word," John told him, and Dean's scowl was enough to assure John that whatever Dean had been about to say was both grossly inappropriate and exactly what John had suspected.

Finally, the hymn ended, and they all sat for the first time in what seemed like forever. Aubrey settled onto his lap, sitting sideways and draping her dress over his knee before settling comfortably against his chest with a contented sigh.

Sam and Braden were on the other side of Dean, and John could see Braden staring intently at the church bulletin.

"Daddy, you got a pen?" Braden whispered softly, only to frown when John shook his head. "Oh wait—I got one in my pocket. I forgot," Braden said, shifting so that he could pull a ballpoint pen out of the pocket of his dress slacks.

With a smile to match his sister's, Braden pulled one of the hymnals out and placed it on his lap. Setting the bulletin on the hymnal, he began to draw intently. Tensing, John pushed Dean forward so he could see past him to what Braden was drawing. Catching sight of an innocent-enough looking doodle, John released Dean and sat back with a sigh of relief.

_Wouldn't do to let Jim's innocent parishioners see Braden drawing freaky shit on the church bulletin. Don't imagine that would go over well._

Settling in as much as one could on a hard, unforgiving piece of wood commonly known as a pew, John allowed his mind to wander, content simply to let Jim's voice wash over him.

But of _course_, any measure of peace John could find in disassociating himself from being in church wasn't going to happen.

It was the clicking sound that first caught his attention. Shifting, he looked over to see Dean flicking his Zippo open and closed, and John closed his eyes, praying for patience before he opened them and reached over, grabbing the lighter and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

Dean huffed but had the sense not to protest.

_Can't believe he brought this with him. Honestly, what possible need for it could—wait, what am I thinking? This is _Dean_. There's _always_ a reason, even if it makes no sense to anyone else. _

"Do _not_ try to get this out of my pocket," he told his oldest quietly, making sure the firm tone got the message across before he turned his focus back to reaching a zen-like state of quiet inattention.

A few minutes later, though, John sensed Dean shifting slightly, and within seconds, he felt the pew rock ever so slightly.

_What the hell?_

Glancing over at the likely culprit, he could hardly say he was surprised when he saw Dean elbowing Sam in the ribs. And it wasn't any more surprising when he saw Sam elbowing him back. John might have considered letting it go, except that like every 'game' the boys engaged in, it escalated. Within minutes, the entire pew was beginning to shake as they progressed from gentle ribbing to full-out elbowing and heated kicking.

His jaw tightening, John reached out and placed his palm around the back of Dean's neck, squeezing ever so slightly until Dean stilled, his eyes staring straight ahead as he drew his shoulders up with a wince. John tightened his grip for a moment before letting go, his point made as Dean slumped down in the pew with a sigh. Reaching around him, John nudged Sam's shoulder, and when the fourteen-year-old looked over, John made it clear with one look that he'd best not encourage his older brother's antics.

_It's sad when I have to rein my seventeen-year-old in more than the two eight-year-olds and the thirteen-year-old combined. I really should've gotten him medicated for this shit a long time ago._

John was just getting comfortable when some sort of signal went out over the congregation and everyone stood simultaneously. With a sigh, John set Aubrey on her feet and stood, nudging Dean as he did, knowing well enough that Dean would stay seated if he was given a choice.

"Man, this blows," the teen murmured a second later. "How much more of this up and down sh—uh, stuff, are we gonna hafta do?"

They'd only been there for a mere thirty minutes and already John was ready to strangle his oldest. Annoyed, John grabbed Dean's elbow and pulled him close.

"I'm about to lose my temper with you," he whispered in Dean's ear. "You'd best knock it off before that happens, understand?"

"Yessir," Dean mumbled, trying to smooth out his bulletin so that he could follow along with the Apostles' Creed.

_Anything to avoid making eye contact now. Good call._

"Daddy? What's an A-post-less Creed?" Aubrey whispered, staring up at him as the congregation murmured the familiar words of the creed.

"It's _Apostles'_ Creed, and it's an affirmation of faith."

"Whazzat mean?"

"It's a stating of what you believe, baby. Listen to it."

"…he shall come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit; the holy catholic church…"

"But, Daddy, we're not Catholic," Aubrey pronounced loudly, and John quickly thumped her shoulder pointedly, even as Dean snorted and Sam let out a snicker of his own. Braden, of course, appeared completely unaffected as he finished speaking the last words of the Creed.

"Sorry," Aubrey whispered, staring up at John sheepishly before shrugging helplessly. "It's okay, though, Daddy—it's still nice here, even if they think we're Catholic." Before John could whisper an explanation, she smiled at him happily and moved closer, leaning against his side with a contented sigh that John had to admit he hadn't seen since, well…ever.

Of course, if Aubrey was the picture of contentment, Dean was the polar opposite. He was tugging at his tie for the hundredth time, slouched dejectedly between John and Sam, looking like nine kinds of misery. By the time Pastor Jim began the Invitation, Dean's tie was looking pretty ravaged.

"Christ our Lord invites to his table all who love him," Jim was saying, "who earnestly repent of their sin and seek to live in peace with one another. Therefore, let us confess our sin before God and one another."

"I hope he doesn't mean that literally," Sam muttered, "or we're gonna be here a long time."

Dean snickered, and even John had to admit, Sam was right—their sins alone would keep the congregation in the pews for most of the day.

"Where do we start?" Dean whispered back. "Yesterday? Today? How about, this morning, I had some 'impure thoughts' about—"

Before Dean could finish enlightening his younger brother with that particular tidbit of information, John elbowed him in the side, giving him a death glare even as he told himself not to lose his shit in front of Jim's congregation.

"What? I wasn't really gonna say it—" Dean protested, but John had just about had it with the seventeen-year-old.

"Try to remember that you're in a church."

"How could I forget?" Dean mumbled sullenly, and that quickly, the last of John's patience snapped. Wrapping his hand around Dean's upper arm, he pulled the teenager toward him.

"I know it's been awhile for you, but your mother and I _did_ teach you how to act in church. And I'm thinking she'd be pretty embarrassed if she could see how you're acting right now. So get it together and try to act like we taught you better."

It was a low blow, and John realized it the moment it left his lips.

_Shit._

He winced inwardly as he watched his son react to it, the seventeen-year-old's body going rigid with tension as his jaw tightened.

"'m sorry, son," John murmured softly, "I didn't mean that," he told him, laying a gentle hand on the back of Dean's neck and squeezing comfortingly.

But Dean didn't respond, and John knew there were going to be serious repercussions—the subject of Mary was as off limits to Dean as it was to John, and there was going to be hell to pay for John's carelessly thrown out remark.

A second later, Dean shrugged him off and slipped out of the pew before John could stop him, walking with angry strides towards the double doors in the back. John thought briefly of going after him, but just as quickly knew he couldn't, not without making a scene. And if Dean knew anything about his old man, it was that he wouldn't make a scene. And he'd taken advantage of that knowledge quite knowingly.

"Dad? Where's Dean goin'?" Sam whispered, but John shook his head, smiling perfunctorily as the couple in front of them turned around to 'share peace' with him.

_Wish you really _could_ share some peace with me. We need a little peace right about now. Family's falling apart while we sit here._

"Dad? Where'd he go?" Sam asked again as they sat and the offering plates began to circulate. "Did he go outside? 'Cause if he did, I wanna go, too."

"You're staying here, Sam."

"But that's not fair! Why's he get to leave and we have to sit here?!"

"_Samuel_."

Wisely, Sam took the hint and settled back into the pew with a huff, and John thought for a minute that things would settle. But of course, that couldn't happen.

"Dad? Bray's drawing creepy shi—stuff in the bulletin," Sam announced, right as Aubrey began pulling on John's sleeve.

"Daddy, can I have some money to put in the offerin' plate? Please?!"

"Braden, quit that," John hissed as he shifted to pull out his wallet.

"Daddy, hurry—the plate's comin'—we might miss it!"

"Just wait a minute," he told her, even as she pulled at his arm frantically.

Peeling a buck out of his wallet, he handed it over to her before reaching over Sam and plucking the pen out of Braden's hand.

"Daddy, I was usin' that!" Braden protested loudly, and with wide eyes, Sam clapped a hand over Braden's mouth, apparently realizing that loud voices, were, in fact, inappropriate in church, something John couldn't say of the rest of his children.

Of course, the hand over the mouth resulted in swift retaliation, i.e.,a scuffle in the middle of the pew, as Braden tried to knock Sam's hand away.

_God, c'mon—I'm _here_, aren't I? Can't it be just a little bit easier?_

Moving quickly, John stood Sam up and maneuvered the boy past him, simultaneously sliding over until he was sandwiched between the two boys. He pulled Sam back down and eyed the poor, unfortunate people who'd had the misfortune of sitting in front of them.

_Poor bastards didn't have a clue. Bet they're wishing they'd stayed at home this morning. Or at least that they'd sat somewhere else. Anywhere but here. I sure as hell am._

By the time Communion began a moment later, John was pretty much ready to call it quits. And he would have, if he didn't imagine Aubrey pitching a holy fit over leaving early, no pun intended.

"Daddy! Can we do that?" she asked, pointing excitedly at the people lining up for communion.

"Aubrey, it's not an amusement park ride. It's Communion."

"I haven't done Communion before in a really long time," she told him earnestly. "Please!"

"Go ahead, then."

"But I want _you_ to come with me!"

_Shit._

Knowing better than to leave the boys unattended in the pew, he nudged Sam up and reluctantly guided his wayward offspring towards the line, wondering when he became such a pansy that he couldn't tell his daughter no.

"Dad?" Sam whispered as they began to return to their seats. "Did Jesus really drink _grape juice_? 'Cause that just seems like a load of crap to me," Sam finished, and this time, it was John who clapped a hand over Sam's mouth as he propelled him back to their pew, casting an apologetic look at Jim, who just smiled in that forgiving way of his.

_Yeah, so not doing this again, Jim. Ever._

Thankfully, the closing hymn was short and sweet, and they made it through without anything else happening.

_Of course, it's pretty damn hard for it to get any worse…_

Sparing only a quick nod for Jim when the dismissal was over, John ushered his children out as soon as the last words left Jim's lips, none too eager to be caught by any of the parishioners who might try to talk to him.

When they got outside, he breathed a sigh of relief, truly relaxing for the first time since they'd sat down in the sanctuary. Dean was slouched against the car, but he straightened up when he saw them coming, turning his back on them and getting into the car without a word.

"Daddy, is D not talkin' again?" Aubrey asked, eyeing her oldest brother with a worried expression.

"Damn, Dad, what did you say to him?" Sam asked, gazing accusingly up at his father with an expression that triggered John's aggression just about every damn time.

"We're not gonna discuss this. Get in the car."

"So you're just gonna ignore the fact that Dean's clammed up again?" Sam asked dryly, obviously possessing his father's inability to let things go.

"Now, Samuel!" John barked, and with an angry huff, the fourteen-year-old slid into the car, followed by the twins, who were, luckily, remaining silent.

Of course, that couldn't last either.

"D? You okay?" Aubrey asked, and John winced as Dean stared unblinkingly out the window, ignoring his sister's question. "Daddy, is D sick again?"

"No," Sam answered before John could. "He's not talkin' 'cause Dad said something to him."

"Daddy, did you say something mean to him?" Aubrey asked him, and John had a sudden flashback to Mary, her hands on her hips as she scolded him for some infraction. Not wanting to be assaulted by painful memories, John quickly took control of the situation and redirected. After all, he was an expert at redirection and outright avoidance.

"We're not gonna talk about this. It's between Dean and myself, understood?"

Aubrey was silent for a long moment, obviously mulling over whether she wanted to accede the point, and John was hard-pressed to hold back a weary sigh.

"Aubrey," he prompted, and with a long-suffering sigh, she crossed her arms and stared grumpily back at him in the rearview mirror.

"Fine," she grumbled.

"Samuel, that means you, too."

"Whatever."

He could've made an issue out of the less-than-respectful answers, but honestly he just wanted some peace and quiet.

"We're gonna sit down and talk about what happened today, boys. Just not now."

"Why not now?" Braden asked, speaking for the first time since John had taken his pen away.

"Shut-up, Braden!" Sam hissed, elbowing Braden in the side as he cut vicious eyes at the younger boy.

"Ow!"

"Daddy, Sam hit Bray!"

"I did not!" Sam retorted hotly.

"Yes, you did!" Aubrey yelled back.

"No, I didn't! I _elbowed_ him—there's a difference, _stupid_!"

"I'm not stupid! Take it back, Sam!"

"Enough!" John barked, never one to tolerate much in the way of backseat squabbling. "Not another word. Sam, you hit or _elbow_ your brother again, and you and I are gonna have a problem, understand?"

"Yessir," Sam muttered, and John could almost _hear_ the unspoken bitching underlying the one-word response.

The returned to the motel room John had rented in silence, but it didn't take an empath to pick up on the uncomfortable tension that had settled in the car. For John, it simply confirmed what he'd come to realize a long time ago: Dean pretty much determined the overall mood of the entire family. If Dean wasn't happy, no one was happy.

_And Dean definitely isn't happy. Or in a particularly forgiving mood._

The silent teenager disappeared into one of the bedrooms, the gentle shutting of the door behind him saying more about his mood than anything.

_Shit._

Dean wasn't mad. He was hurt.

_Because if he was mad, that door would've been slammed, and something would've been thrown against it by now. _

John dropped onto the ratty sofa, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix things. Sam and the twins went to change clothes, and John figured they'd stay out of sight, not wanting to prompt the 'discussion' that John had mentioned.

So it was pretty surprising when the weight distribution on the couch shifted as Aubrey jumped onto it with a flying leap, followed by Braden and Sam at a more sedate pace, the latter perching on the arm of the couch rather than having a seat.

"Daddy," Braden began quietly, his blue eyes gazing up at John gravely, "we're sorry about church today. We should've been better."

"I was good," Aubrey piped up, scooting closer to John so that she could wrap her arms around one of his. "Wasn't I good, Daddy?"

"Yeah, baby," John told her, trying to rustle up a smile for her.

_Relatively speaking. _

"Brown-noser," Sam mumbled, and Aubrey looked back at him with a frown, even as John scowled at the fourteen-year-old who was beginning to get as proficient with insults as his older brother.

"I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound nice. Daddy—"

"He's calling you a suck-up, Aubby," Braden explained, casting a mean look at Sam on his sister's behalf.

"Oh…" she said, biting her lip as she considered that. "Shut-up, Sam," she retorted finally, and John couldn't help but smile at her complete inability to fire back anything more creative than that.

"So are you still mad at us, Daddy?" Braden asked, steering the conversation back on subject.

"I'm not mad, son. I'm a bit disappointed, though."

"We'll do better next time. I won't draw on the bulletin no more, and Aubby won't be so loud. And Sam'll be quiet and not mess with me no more."

"You the family spokesman now?" John asked, amused by his youngest son in spite of himself.

"If you want," Braden told him sincerely, and John smirked.

"We'll hash out suitable punishments for your behavior later, boys," he said finally, too drained to deal with it at the moment. "In the meantime, the TV stays off for the rest of the day."

"Can I still watch it?" Aubrey asked.

"Let's just leave it off for now," John told her, rubbing at his now aching temple.

"What about Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowed on John speculatively. "Is he on TV restriction, too?"

"Yeah. But I doubt he'll come out of the bedroom any time soon, so it's probably irrelevant."

"Did you hurt his feelings, Daddy?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"You should tell him you're sorry."

"I did. But Dean holds on to things, has a hard time lettin' 'em go."

"Wonder where he got that from," Sam snorted.

"I'll go talk to him," Aubrey announced before John could respond to Sam's snark, the little girl resolutely climbing to her feet and heading for the bedroom.

"Uh, Dad," Sam began hesitantly as they watched Aubrey barge into the bedroom without knocking.

"Yeah," John replied, already on it before Sam could finish the thought.

They both knew how easily Aubrey could push Dean's buttons when the mood struck her. And it seemed to strike her with growing frequency these days. John liked to think of it as sort of a, 'the more I feel like part of the family, the more comfortable I am pissing you off' deal.

Not that Dean didn't give us good as he got, but all the same, John didn't really feel like dealing with it after the fiasco at church. Needless to say, he didn't waste any time standing up to follow her, stopping beside the bedroom door to monitor the conversation.

"D, did Daddy hurt your feelings?" John heard her ask him bluntly. He could hear the bed creak as she sat down, no doubt sitting as close to her older brother as she possibly could.

_Probably because she knows good and well that it unnerves the hell out of him. She's got something of a mean streak in her, that one. Course, she comes by it honestly…_

"I'm not a fuckin' _girl_, Aubrey," Dean retorted, neatly sidestepping the question.

_Dammit, Dean—I've told you about using that kind of language in front of her._

"Well then what's the matter?" she asked, obviously not buying it, but willing to play along it seemed. "You mad 'cause Daddy made you go to church?"

"Why wouldn't I be? It's a waste of time, and it's stupid."

_And there's the redirect—make her think you're angry and she won't believe you're just hurt._

"How come you don't like it?" Aubrey was asking.

"Because I don't see a point in sitting around worshipping a god that doesn't care about us," Dean told her hotly, and John winced.

"But He _does_ care about us," Aubrey argued.

"God doesn't give a rat's ass about me! Because if he did, then he wouldn't have let that demon kill my mom."

"But D…God _did_ care—He looked after you, 'cause you didn't die in that fire that killed your mama."

"But He didn't look after _Mom_, Aubrey! She was a good person, and she didn't deserve to die like that. I don't want any part in believing in a god that lets something like that happen to someone like my mom."

"But that's what it's all about, D—Mama said that faith is about believin', even when things are bad."

"I don't care!" he snapped at her. "Besides, what has faith ever done for you?! It sure as hell didn't help your mom any more than it did mine."

"Yes it did," she told him softly. "God sent you and Daddy and Sam to come and get us. Mama always prayed, and she prayed that God would keep us safe. She didn't ask God to keep _her _safe—if she had, I bet God would've saved her."

_Shit, this is about to get ugly._

Because John knew, even if Aubrey didn't, that Dean was a step away from attacking her faith head-on, and for an eight-year-old that had lost her mother only a short time ago, the emotional damage could be devastating and irreparable.

"Wake up, Aubrey," Dean began, his voice tight with barely repressed rage. "God doesn't give a—"

"Aubrey," John said, stepping into the room and cutting Dean off before he could finish. "Why don't you go see what your brothers are doing? I need to talk with Dean for a bit."

"There's nothin' to talk about," Dean said belligerently after Aubrey had shut the door behind her on her way out.

"How about the fact that you were about to tell an eight-year-old that God doesn't care about her?" John asked pointedly.

"Why should I lie to her?" Dean threw back heatedly. "Better she find out now than later."

"I know it's hard for you to understand, Dean, but your sister needs to believe that God looks after us."

"But it's bullshit, Dad, you know it is!"

"Is it?"

"What, so you're saying you buy into all that shit now?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I'm saying I don't know. I've seen a lot of evil in this world, and not a hell of a lot of good. But I can't rule it out entirely, either. What I do know is this: if it helps your sister to believe that God keeps us safe, then we're not gonna do anything to jeopardize that. You let her believe, Dean. You understand what I'm tellin' you?"

Dean gave him a tight nod, his jaw tightly clenched as he fought to hold back what was no doubt a heated retort.

"Dean? Did you hear what I said?" John asked, knowing his son well enough to know that anything other than a verbal acknowledgment was a loophole, plain and simple.

"Yessir."

John would have let it go there, but the way Dean's anger seemed to be building rather than diminishing was cause for concern. So when Dean got up to leave, John held up a hand.

"Sit back down. We're not done here."

"Fuck," Dean murmured, and John cast a dark look at him.

"You wanna try that again?"

Dean huffed angrily and dropped back down on the bed.

"That's what I thought. Now you wanna tell me what's got you so amped up?"

"No sir."

"Well I think you need to—you're building up a good head of steam, and I don't want to lose our safety deposit on this place 'cause you broke somethin'."

"I just don't wanna talk about God and all this religious bullshit anymore," Dean said angrily, his temper finally starting to fray.

"Is that really how you feel about all of it?"

"About God? Yeah," Dean told him, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Dean…I hope I've never given you the impression that I'm not okay with you believing in God if that's what you want."

"What the hell, Dad? I just _told_ you I don't believe _any_ of it!" Dean barked.

"I know. But your mother did, and for a long time, I did, too. I don't put much stock in it now, but…well we raised you to believe for the first four years of your life, so if you _do_ still believe, it's okay."

"Well, I don't!" Dean yelled, his temper finally snapping, just as John had thought it would. "I _don't_ because it's a bunch of crap! God is supposed to be all loving and shit, but he let Mom _die_! She believed in Him, and what the hell did it get her?! Nothing! She said it every night, Dad! She said angels were watching over us! But they weren't! So no, Dad, I don't believe, and it's not fucking okay! 'Cause if I believe, it means that there was some _divine _fucking reason that Mom died, some reason He _let_ her die, that she wasn't good enough somehow, and I _can't_ believe that! I _won't_!"

"Dean."

That was all he was able to say, his own throat tight as his son's pain came roaring out, as he realized that today must have been hell for his oldest. Not only was Dean confronted with a God he had no faith in, a God he couldn't forgive, he was also forced to remember a better time, when he'd gone to church with _both _of his parents. When he'd been happy.

_Shit._

Dean was silent, his body rigid with tension as he fought to regain his composure, to resume the mask of carefree detachment that he normally assumed. Taking a risk, John reached out and laid a hand on the nape of Dean's neck, letting the simple touch be the comfort that he couldn't really verbalize.

_How do you fix something like this when a part of you thinks that, too? When a part of you hurts the same damn way?_

A silent tear slid slowly down Dean's face, and John could just feel the tautness of his body, how he was straining to hold back any further tears.

"Don't make me go back," Dean choked out, his voice emerging in a choked whisper. "Please. 'm sorry about today, just please don't make me go back," Dean begged, his voice finally breaking with the force of his emotions, and the pain in his plea made John's heart ache in reply.

"'s alright, son, easy," John murmured, pulling Dean to him in a one-armed hug, Dean's body jerking with suppressed sobs. "You don't have to go back, it's okay."

The door cracked open silently, and John looked up to see Aubrey peeking back in with a sad, worried expression. Wordlessly, she came back inside and walked over on silent feet, climbing into John's lap and laying her head on his shoulder as she watched Dean sadly. Finally, she shifted until she could lean against Dean, wrapping her arms around one of his.

"'m sorry we made you go to church, D. I didn't know it'd make you sad."

Embarrassed, Dean pulled away and swiped angrily at whatever tears had managed to leak out.

"I'm not sad," Dean denied vehemently. "I'm pissed off, and I don't wanna talk about God anymore!"

"It's okay, D," Aubrey said knowingly, her blue eyes staring back at Dean with startling clarity. "You don't gotta talk about God no more. And it's okay that you don't got no faith—I got enough for both o' us. I'll share. God understands."

"I don't care if He understands," Dean retorted caustically.

"That's okay. God still loves you anyway. And even though your mama died, I know He still looks after you. I bet he looks after your mama in Heaven, too."

"I'm done," Dean said coldly, his face now void of any emotion. He stormed out, and this time, John let him go, knowing that some hurts just couldn't be healed.

"Daddy? Does Dean really not have any faith anymore?"

"If he does, it's buried so deep he doesn't even know it's there anymore."

"And it's 'cause his mama died?"

"Yeah. Remember how I told you that Dean was really small when it happened?"

"Uh huh."

"Well…he was too young to understand it the way you do. He's never forgiven God for what happened to Mary."

_Neither have I._

"But it wasn't God's fault," she protested, staring up at him with an innocence that somehow remained despite all of the shit that had happened to her and their family.

"Maybe, maybe not. But none of that matters to Dean, Aubrey—his faith was hurt too much when he was too young to deal with it, and I wasn't in a place to help him recover it."

"Because you were sad and mad, too?"

"Yeah."

_Hell, I still am. _

"Oh."

She was silent for a few moments, and John could almost hear her thinking about it before she finally looked back up at him sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Daddy. It'll come back one day."

"What?"

"Dean's faith—it'll come back," she told him emphatically. "You'll see."

"How do you know?"

"I dunno. I just do," she said with a shrug, and with that, she slid off his lap and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?"

"To see if Bray and Sam'll play Barbies with me, you know, since they can't watch TV," she told him, speaking over her shoulder as she strolled out. He stared after her, wishing he could have that kind of surety, even as he knew just as well that it wasn't that easy.

_But then again, I guess that's what faith is all about._


End file.
